Part 16

We know that Jesus Himself once stood in the ranks of the world's toil. Many a day, for many a year, He wrought in the sweat of His brow in the carpenter shop at Nazareth. He thus stamped with the approval of His own example the work of every toiler, and showed the high dignity that belongs to all honest labor. By this manifestation of the risen Jesus to those fishermen of Galilee He sanctified and glorified the work of His children. Like that dim figure on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias, Jesus stands over against us, watching us with eyes of sympathy, and waiting to bless us with His counsel and help. He has not changed. He is the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. Let us not forget this glorious truth as we bend over our desks, or machines, stand behind sale counters, or move in household duties; the thought: Jesus is looking on, will shed its hallowed light upon the "common task," as it is styled, fill us with courage and cheerfulness, though our own work be irksome and hard, and enable us to do it faithfully, to quote the words of the apostle, "not with eye-service as men-pleasers, but in singleness of heart, as unto the Lord," who looketh on.

Again, we note, Jesus revealed Himself to His disciples on this occasion, not only in the midst of their daily work, but in the _hour of their failure and disappointment_. They had gone forth to catch fish; but they had caught nothing. They were wet and cold, weary and hungry. And it was to these tired and disappointed men that the Lord appeared. He filled their nets with fish; He filled their hearts with the joy of His presence, nor did He forget their bodily comfort and needs, He kindled a fire upon the shore, and provided for them a welcome meal of fish and bread. And Christ's methods, my beloved, have not altered with the years. That scene on Lake Gennesaret is an allegory with a deep meaning for ourselves. It reminds us that our schemes and plans and endeavors, toil however hard we may, not infrequently meet with disappointment. We have perhaps all of us experienced what the poet says:

Oh! it is hard to work for God, To rise and take His part; Upon this battle-field of earth, And not sometimes lose heart. He hides Himself so wondrously As though there were no God, He is least seen when all the powers Of ill are most abroad. Or, He deserts us at the hour; The light is all but lost, And seems to leave us to ourselves Just when we need Him most.

And yet, to speak with the text, though we may recognize Him not, He is tenderly watching us from the shore. He has long since passed over to His glory. But while His disciples are yet on these waters, He keeps Himself near the margin, and looks down upon them in their toil. His great heart is with us all in our disappointments, difficulties, and disheartening endeavors, and in some way, at the right time, He will come, just as yonder on the Sea of Galilee, to help us. Let us believe that, and go ahead with our present duties, steadily, bravely, hopefully. Hopefully, I repeat; there is all the difference in the world between working with hope and without it.

The sailor on the raft sinks into despair as long as there is no vessel in sight, but let a ship appear on the far horizon, and immediately he is alert, and seeks by every means in his power to attract the attention of those on board, if, haply, he may be saved. In the same way, if we lose the hope of Christ's help, we shall give up and break down. Let us hold on, no matter what we are required to contend against in the battle of life, in the Lord's cause, and rest assured that at length Christ will come to us with such strength and supply as will abundantly compensate us for the toil and worry. Let us believe that, or we shall fail in our undertakings.

Nor only, to follow our text, in the midst of work and disappointment, but in the time of spiritual doubt and difficulty does Jesus reveal Himself. In those days the hearts of the disciples were burdened with many regrets and uncertainties and fears. In that stern of that very boat perchance their Master had often reclined, upon those same waters, and as they sat throughout those long and weary hours with the sails idly flapping, or plying the long, heavy oars, the waves splashing against the side of the boat, how these various sights and sounds must have reminded them irresistibly of One who used to be beside them constantly, and of the vanished happiness when they had been His pupils and His friends. That life of close companionship was ended now. Their beloved Master had been taken from them by wicked hands and crucified and slain. And, though since He had already appeared to them after His resurrection, and assured them of His living presence and power, yet He had appeared only to vanish away, and they did not know exactly how they were to think of Jesus, or what He would have them do. They were in a state of spiritual doubt and uncertainty, full of regrets for the vanished past, and with no clear outlook for the years to come.

Jesus appears to them on this morning. They learn more fully who He was, and also what He would have them do. Immediately following this description is the interview He had with Peter, three times directing him, "Feed my lambs, feed my sheep." He was teaching them all the while a valuable lesson. Up to this time they had been in visible companionship with the Lord; He was now educating them into the thought that, though His visible form should be withdrawn, His personal presence would be with them still. In short, He was preparing them to believe the great truth, on which the very existence of the Christian Church depends, and which He announced to them in the words of His parting promise: "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the ends of the world."

It is quite similar with believers now. Our faith is often sorely tried, we are "tossed about with many a conflict, many a doubt." We need those things; the Lord is thereby educating us, teaching us some lesson or lessons, so that our faith may become stronger, purer, and better. "Doubt," one has said who lived long ago, "doubt is the daughter of the devil." There is that kind of a doubt which is the sign of an enlarging faith. Of that sort was Thomas. How gloriously it was removed, and he the better for it! So with these men here, and so with us. Not seldom do we find a soul must be tossed all night upon a dark, tempestuous sea of doubt and misgiving before Jesus comes with the morning light to speak His word of peace, and to make all things plain.

This leads to the last thought, _viz._, that Jesus reveals Himself to the eyes of those who love Him. We must not think that work, or disappointment, or religious doubt, in themselves, insure the vision of the Lord. On the contrary, it may be these things precisely that veil Him from our sight. Sometimes a man's work so absorbs his heart that he has no thoughts left for spiritual things. And sometimes worldly disappointments only make a man hard, bitter, and cynical, while spiritual doubt drives him into sheer unbelief and black despair. A certain condition of heart is needful in order that these things become blessings, the occasion of fresh revelations of the Lord. This narrative suggests which it is. It was John who saw Jesus first in the figure that stood on the shore, and John, as we know, was the disciple who loved Jesus most and best, and there was a real connection between these two facts. It was the love of John's heart, rather than the sharpness of his eyes, that enabled him to say, "It is the Lord"; for love detects the loved one afar off, and where others see only the indistinguishable figure of a man, it cries: "Nay, it is he himself." And love, my beloved, is still and always a great condition of spiritual knowledge. "He that loveth me," said Jesus, "shall be loved of my Father, and I will love Him and will manifest Myself to him." Often, like those fishermen of Galilee, we have to face life's duties and burdens with a dull and heavy heart; if there is love to Christ, He will appear to our faith, if not to our sight, filling our hearts with the joy of His presence and compelling us to say in wonder and delight: "It is the Lord."

God grant that we may know Him in this life, so that when the morning of eternity dawns upon us, we may see Christ standing on the shore of heaven and hear His words of welcome. Amen.

SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER.

So when they had dined, Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these? He saith unto Him, Yea, Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee. He saith unto him, Feed my lambs. He saith to him the second time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? He saith unto Him, Yea, Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee. He saith unto him, Feed my sheep. He saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? Peter was grieved because He said unto him the third time, Lovest thou me? And he said unto Him, Lord, Thou knowest all things; Thou knowest that I love Thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed my sheep.--_John 21, 15-17._

It was on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. The first pale shafts of the rising sun were shooting across the eastern sky, revealing seven fishermen out upon the water in a little boat. All night they had been toiling, rowing and letting down their nets, but nothing had they caught. Disheartened by their fruitless toil, they were just about to give up further attempt when a once familiar form is seen standing upon the beach, and they hear a voice telling them to cast the net on the right side of the ship. They heed the direction, and the success which follows--a draught of one hundred and fifty-three fishes--confirms them in their belief that it was their risen Master who had given the command. Thereupon they drag the boats to shore, and find a fire of coals, and fish laid thereon and bread, whilst He whom all know to be the Lord, but whom none from holy awe dares ask, "Who art Thou?" bids them, "Come and eat."

It is here that our text sets in--one of the most pathetic incidents in sacred story. To understand it properly, we go back in spirit to that scene in the high priest's palace when Peter, the bold and courageous, whose impulsiveness had caused him to promise great things, had shamefully and cowardly denied his Master in the hour of distress. Thrice had he averred that he knew not the man of whom they spoke, and aggravated his offense by denunciations and an oath. It was a grievous, a most terrible fall for the apostle, one that virtually excluded him from the circle of his fellow-disciples and from his holy office; and whilst it is true that he had wept in sorrowing repentance when the eye of his Master had met his insignificant look, yet the occurrence was such as to demand a personal heart-to-heart interview and setting aright. This interview took place on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, after the miraculous draught of fish. Everything tended to prepare the apostle for the holy scene. It was just three years before, at the same sea, after a similar miracle, that the Lord had established him in his ministerial office. The early hour reminded him of the morning watch, that fire of coals answered to that fire of coals in the palace of Caiaphas,--all of this must have touched Peter's heart to the quick, made him exquisitively sensitive to the scene that followed. The particulars of that scene we shall now ponder, regarding, _I. The examination_, _II. the charge_.

When they had finished their meal, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?" Each designation is touchingly significant. "Simon, son of Jonas." Why not "Peter," the name He had Himself once bestowed? Because he had proved himself anything but a Peter, a rock man. It was not as Peter, as a rock, but as Simon, son of flesh and blood, that he had acted in denying his Lord. "Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou _me_?" Remembering what had occurred, how divine, how unspeakably tender a word! "Lovest thou _me_?" even Him whom thou didst say and confirm with an oath, "I know not the man," and more than these, as thou didst boastfully claim: "Although all should be offended because of Thee, yet will I never be offended." Truly, a rigid examination if accompanied by the same look that once brought tears to his eyes, calculated to cut down deep into his innermost soul. Moreover, the Lord repeats the inquiry three times, evidently as a reminder of the thrice shameful denial.

And what does the disciple reply? Sad almost unto death, he would prefer to turn aside and give vent to his feelings in silent tears. But the Lord has put a question to him, and speak he must, and so he responds with great tact and deep emotion, "Yea, Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee." And the last time, with additional force, "Lord, Thou knowest all things; Thou knowest that I love Thee," as though he said: "Others may misjudge me, these brethren and apostles, those servants in the high priest's palace, but Thou, Lord, the Omniscient, knowest that I love Thee." And we may believe that it was so. On the day of Pentecost, when boldly confessing his Master in the face of thousands, until the day when, pinned to the cross in Rome, he at last made good his promise, "Though I should die with Thee, yet will I not deny Thee,"--in all this we have the evidence of that love thrice avowed. And has that original scene on the shore of the Sea of Galilee and that question no concern and no application whatever for us? No superfluous or unprofitable inquiry, my dear hearers.

If the Lord were to appear personally in our midst this morning, look straight into your eyes, and, addressing you by your name, say, as He did to Simon, son of Jonas: "Lovest thou me?" could you answer as promptly, as heartily as the Apostle did, "Yea, Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee"? Or are there no tests by which to find out? It was written by a pious man, but it is poor, unchristian theology:

'Tis a point I long to know, Oft it causes anxious thought, Do I love the Lord or no? Am I His, or am I not?

We need only settle down to a faithful and impartial scrutiny with ourselves to find out, "Lovest thou me more than these?" What "these"?

Love, according to its object, has been variously classified. There is social affection, or love of friends. In spite of much that has been said about the fickleness of friends and friendships, there is no darker lot and no gloomier epitaph could be inscribed upon the monument of any man than that: "He lived and died without a friend." History gives us many noble testimonies of its strength and beauty. We think of the Bible account of David and Jonathan. Again, more beautiful and binding is the affection which subsists in the family circle. The bond that ties together husband and wife, that unites together brothers and sisters, brought up around the same domestic hearths, sharing in common joys and sorrows, how strong and enduring it ought to be, and especially that which exists between parents and the child. The recollection of a noble parent, of a devoted mother, time nor place nor change can ever uproot the affection from the heart. But, asks the voice of our text: "Lovest thou me more than these?"

There is One toward whom we sustain a still nearer and holier relation, One whose care surpasses that of an earthly parent, and whose love is more deep and sublime and unfailing than a mother's, even He who has created you, redeemed you, and who crowns not only your life, but your whole eternity with His goodness. It matters not what, and hence you may embrace in that riches, honor, property, possessions, fame and name, or even self,--there is One who requires that all these should be held in subordination to a still higher, all-sustaining affection. "Lovest thou me"--is the question, "more than these," and where is the evidence?

If you love a person, you will delight in the fellowship and company of that person. Love finds its greatest happiness in the presence of the beloved. The thought of a long absence is painful, or hopeless separation, intolerable. It is so with Him who asks "Lovest thou me?" Every opportunity of communion with Him the believer values as a privilege. The Word in which He speaks to him, the place in which He meets with him, the table which He spreads for him, these are his greatest delight, his favorite and fondest resort.

Again, if you love some one, you will constantly aim to please that person. You will be considerate of his feelings, you will refrain from any conduct that might be displeasing, and strive in every possible way to be of service and help to his interests. It is none else with Christ. Consideration for Him and obedience to Him, and that as a pleasure and privilege, is a criterion of our love to Him; and this alone you will find where there is true attachment. The maiden that loves will think nothing of leaving a pleasant home to cast her lot with the man of her devotion. The mother will spend herself, unselfishly sacrifice her comfort, strength, and even life itself, for the objects of her affection, and this rule applies to the Christian sphere.--No man ever possessed true love for Christ who was not willing to lay down in sacrifice what he cherished highly. Here, then, are a few criterions, and now, with all sincerity, repeat the question once more, "Lovest thou me?" Lovest thou my Word, my house, my sacraments? Is my service thy delight? What sacrifice art thou bringing? Shall the Savior say unto thee as Delilah said unto Samson: "How canst thou say, I love thee, when thy heart is not with me?" Or are you able to say with the Apostle, "Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee"? May we all be brought to love and adore, with our whole, undivided heart, Him who loved us and gave Himself for us, and who is the Model and Source of all pure and ennobling lives.

But there is yet another consideration for us to weigh in the text. Peter, making threefold confession of His attachment, is three times, after each answer, commanded, "Feed my lambs," "Feed my sheep." A desperate cause, in this passage as in a few others, wants to find a proof of Peter's supremacy. There is a certain pontiff who wears a triple crown--the tiara--upon his head, styles himself Peter's successor, and seals his briefs and documents with the "Fisherman's Ring," and he affects to rule all Christendom in virtue of the right conferred on that Apostle by Christ. But in vain do we seek the scripture for any such reference, and surely no such sense is implied here. That scene on the shores of the Sea of Galilee can by no means be interpreted to mean that Peter was being exalted above his fellow-apostles. Neither could we regard it as a reproof and abasement. None other had so sorrowfully forfeited his charge as Peter had, and it was not necessary to reinstate them. Where, then, is the exaltation? Nor is there any such a sense implied in the words themselves. "Feed my lambs," is Christ's direction. Romanism, you will observe, exalts the ruling; you can see that in such words as pope, cardinal, primate, bishop, prelate, diocesan, throne, and so forth. Protestantism emphasizes the "feeding." Protestantism makes much of preaching, Rome but little. Rome exalts the clergy, Protestantism gives prominence to the congregation.

It is easy enough to decree and lord it over, it is not so easy to feed. And food is what a flock explicitly needs. It can live without edicts, it cannot live without food. Observe, also, the pronoun "my" sheep. The flock was not Peter's, it was the flock of Peter's Lord. The flock does not belong to the under-shepherd; it belongs to the chief shepherd. And did not Peter himself--and that is one reason why his letters are never read in the Romish Church--very strongly denounce the very things which it is asserted that Christ had invested him with: lordship over the Church, a separate hierarchical priesthood, and refuse such honors as are freely given to his successor? As Luther has well said: "Popery never drew its doctrine from the Bible, but uses it as a means to thrust upon the world an audacious system which has its origin somewhere else."

Nor can we leave entirely unnoticed the difference the Lord makes between His people,--"Feed my lambs," and again, "Feed my sheep." Some of Christ's flock are lambs, lambs in years. Perhaps there are more lambs than sheep, more true members of Christ in the nursery and in the Sunday-school and in the Christian day-school than in the assembly of the adults, and these we are to feed, and it becomes those who are invested with the sacred office, and those who are supporting the sacred office, to dispense to them wholesome and health-sustaining spiritual food. Our responsibilities in this respect are great, and all the greater because the more secular knowledge would crowd out religious, the many things that are now regarded needful, and set aside "the one thing needful." "Feed my lambs," and, "Feed my sheep," says the Chief Shepherd. See that they get the proper food and get it in proper proportion.

And "My sheep;" we are not always to remain lambs. Christian life is a growth. First the blade, then the ear, and then the full corn in the ear. First babes, and then we need milk; afterwards adults, and then we need meat. Alas! that, like the writer of the letter to the Hebrews, we are sometimes constrained to complain "that many of you who ought by this time be teachers, are yet needing again that one teach them the first rudiments of the oracles of God, having become such as have need of milk and not of solid food."